


Staying In

by Bullfinch



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Trans Fenris, Trans Male Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-22
Updated: 2015-07-22
Packaged: 2018-04-10 14:53:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4396193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bullfinch/pseuds/Bullfinch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fenris has cramps.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Staying In

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Fenris is trans here. It’s not obvious to everyone but the crew knows it—I imagine they were all roaring drunk at the Hanged Man sometime early in the game and Isabela was like “so does the lyrium go down to your dick too” and Fenris was like “HAHA I DON’T HAVE ONE OF THOSE” and it sort of just came out after that. He doesn't have a whole lot of body dysphoria.  
> I also imagine a) he and Hawke haven’t been together all that long and b) he doesn’t get regular periods because he is terrible at nourishing himself, so Hawke hasn’t dealt with this before.  
> This is tiny and largely pointless and I wrote it in ~2 hrs but I hope you enjoy it anyway

Fenris is normally happy to hear the knocking on his door, bright and early, Hawke calling his name.

This morning he isn’t happy about anything.

“Come with us to Maura’s, she’s got a new type of bread!” Hawke calls. “I think it’s got plums in it!”

Fenris uncurls himself, sits up on the edge of the bed, plants his feet on the floor. As he rises he clutches his middle, as if that’ll help with the pain. It’s fine. He’s dealt with this before. The nausea starts to twist in his gut as he descends the stairs. That is…less easy to deal with. But he  _can_  do it.

He opens the door, squinting in the sunlight. “I apologize, I awoke late this morning. Come in, I’ll only be a few minutes.”

Then he shuffles away to make room for Hawke and Aveline to enter. It’s worse than normal today, the ache radiating from his lower abdomen. In his back now, too. Well, it’ll just be like fighting after sustaining an injury that hasn’t healed yet. And after eating something that’s turning his stomach into a hundred knots. And being poisoned with some substance that’s set the world to spinning slowly under his feet, making him lurch as he walks with a gait so awkward it must be comical—

“Fenris, Maker’s breath—“ Hawke comes up beside him, grasps his arm. “What’s wrong? You look awful. I mean—er, marginally less radiant than usual.”

Fenris cracks a smile at the backpedaling. “It’s nothing. I am fine.” Then Hawke’s grip tightens on his arm, and he realizes he’s swaying.

“You’re not fine. You’re pale and sweaty and—are you sick?” Hawke pushes Fenris’s hair back from his face. “Let Anders take a look at you.”

Fenris tries to squirm away. He doesn’t like to make the others worry, especially Hawke. “No, I’m not sick. I promise you, nothing is wrong.”

Then Aveline’s there, laying a reassuring hand on Hawke’s shoulder. “He’s not sick, he’s got cramps. Isn’t that right?”

Aveline and her protective instincts. The secret is out. Still, Fenris stands up straight, holds himself steady. “Yes. But this is nothing new, I can still fight.”

Hawke slumps. “Maker, I’m an idiot. I should have known. Bethany got them bad sometimes too.” Then he heaves a brisk sigh. “Well, you’re certainly not going out like this.”

“What?” This is the exact situation he was trying to prevent— “I told you, I’ve done it before, many times! I  _will_  fight today, Hawke. As well as I ever have.”

“Well, I don’t know who’s going to accompany you.” Hawke shrugs. “After all,  _I’m_  not going anywhere. In fact, I’m staying right here.”

Aveline chuckles behind him. Fenris just stares for a second, wondering yet again how in the world he managed to fall in love with this oaf. “You are— _impossible!”_

“What’s that? I’m impossibly handsome?” Hawke combs his fingers through his beard, preening. “I mean—I’m  _flattered_ , really, and I can’t say I disagree—“

Fenris folds his arms and glares daggers. Aveline steps in to salvage the situation. “Fenris, we could still take you to a healer. It doesn’t have to be Anders, but if you’re in pain—“

“No, I—“ He rests a hand on his abdomen again. “I’d rather not tell anyone else about this.”

“All right. It’s your choice.” She goes off toward the kitchen. “I’ll make some tea. You should lie down.”

It appears he’s already ruined the day for everyone, so there’s not much use in protesting further. He shuffles to the steps, unable to deny, in some small, guilty corner of his mind, that lying down  _does_  sound much less unpleasant than trekking through bright, sunny, dusty, humid, too-hot, wretched Kirkwall the entire day—

“Fenris?”

He pauses. “Hm?”

Hawke hovers at his elbow. “Would you mind terribly if I carried you up the stairs?”

“Yes, I would mind.” Fenris grasps the banister.

“Then I promise I’ll make it up to you later.”

Fenris yelps in surprise as Hawke scoops him up and starts ferrying him up to the second floor. He fully intends to be very angry about it, but once he’s there he finds himself turning his face into Hawke’s chest, grasping his shirt, and trying to quash the sudden and bizarre urge to have a brief cry.

The urge, fortunately, is evicted by the time they reach the bedroom and Hawke lays him down with utmost care on the twisted-up covers. “Can I get you anything?”

Fenris responds by extracting himself from his shirt and wriggling out of his trousers. This house is too hot. Summer is a detestable season. He retains his underclothes, unwilling to cede  _all_  of his dignity just yet.

Hawke’s pulled up an armchair, and he sits on the edge of the seat, less a doting figure than a faithful watchdog just waiting for an unlucky ne’er-do-well to sink his teeth into. “Does this…happen often?”

Fenris pulls the pillow under his head. “No. A few times a year, no more.”

“I’m sorry. It doesn’t sound like fun.”

“I am accustomed to it.”

“Did you say—you’ve fought like this before? All—hunched over in pain, teetering about like a newborn foal? Looking like you’re going to heave your guts out any second?”

Fenris raises an eyebrow. “Are you quite finished lavishing me with compliments, or shall I expect more?”

“Fenris, Andraste’s tits, you  _know_ if Anders accidentally turned you into the fattest, slimiest slug I’d still love you with every fiber of my being.”

“Mm. I do hope that wouldn’t detract from your efforts to change me back.”

“I… _am_  quite fond of you as you are now.” Hawke leans down and kisses him.

Fenris reaches out and tangles his fingers in Hawke’s. “The fact remains, I can and have fought like this. In a short while I will likely be feeling better, and we can—“

“—we can stay here and have a nice nap. Maybe some lunch.” Hawke takes Fenris’s hand in both of his own and starts to massage it, an action he seems to do automatically. It is a rather pleasing habit. “I don’t want to make you suffer any more than you have to.”

Fenris is quiet. Danarius, of course, never cared about Fenris’s suffering unless it suited him to pretend it. And after that it was Fenris himself enforcing it. To repay the kindness shown him, even though none of them expect repayment, of course, and it’s only him futilely throwing himself at a debt he can’t be absolved of because it simply does not exist.

“I like the sound of a nap,” he says.

Aveline knocks on the door frame. “I have tea.”

Fenris drags his shirt back on and covers his legs with the sheets. The tea is hot, but it’s mint, and the overall effect is soothing. The three of them talk for a while, and the conversation distracts him from the aching and the sickness, even when he loses the energy for it and instead just listens to the other two going on.

When they’re finished Aveline offers to go tell Anders why they haven’t shown up yet, and to inform the seneschal his meeting will have to be postponed. “And you.” She fixes Fenris with a warning look. “You take care of yourself. Just because you’ve ignored it before doesn’t mean you should have to keep ignoring it.”

“I—“ He blinks. “Yes. I understand. Thank you.”

“Good. Then I’ll see you both later.” She leaves them alone.

Fenris unclothes himself once more. A relief. “Hawke.”

“Hm?”

“Could you come here?”

So Hawke crawls into bed beside him, kisses him on the forehead, and settles down. After a moment Fenris picks up Hawke’s hand and places it on one of his breasts. There. That feels nice.

“I’m going to stay here until you’re completely better,” Hawke declares.

Fenris snorts. “That may take several days.”

“I guess you’re stuck with me then.”

Fenris strokes Hawke’s arm absentmindedly, his fingers. “Thank you. For doing this. It…would have been difficult for me, had I accompanied you as normal.”

“I want you to be happy. Or at least as not-miserable as possible.” Hawke squeezes his breast gently.

“You’re here with me.” Fenris kisses him on the cheek. “I am happy.”


End file.
